I'd Tell You
by TheScaryLittleGhostGirl
Summary: She never told him. He on the other hand made an effort to tell her every day, sometimes several times a day. But just because she didn't tell him didn't mean that she didn't. But to her, love was for children. Clint/Natasha, Hawkeye/Black Widow. T for fairly non graphic smut. One-shot


**AN: First Avengers fic so please be nice **

She never told him, and he'd got to the point where he no longer expected her to. He on the other hand, made an effort to tell her every day, sometimes several times a day, and every time he did she would nod her beautiful head in acknowledgement and turn away. That was her, and that was just the way she was, or at least the way she had been made to be. Silent but deadly, Clint smiled bitterly at the cruel irony. That was his Natasha alright, the Black Widow.

Physically, to Clint, she was the epitome or perfection. Her face shone, somewhat luminous, her eyes a piercing shade of crystal green, with delicately arched eyebrows, plump lips perfectly curved, her features framed by flowing dark red curls. But it wasn't just that Natasha was beautiful – though she was the most gorgeous woman Clint had ever laid eyes on - it was that his feelings for her were based on something so much more than the physical. Emotionally it was overwhelming, he was completely and utterly at her mercy and he would never even consider what his life would be like with somebody else.

The first time that he had told her it had been after a particularly dangerous exploit in which they had both been held at gunpoint, they had returned somewhat shaken. He had kissed her, to his dying day he would never understand why he had done it, he had nearly lost her, he was shaky and weak and cowardly and in the moment he just needed to touch her and be touched by her. It had only been his lips against her to begin with, but to his surprise she hadn't pushed him away in shock or disgust, she had kissed him just as intensely as he her. There had been absolutely nothing platonic or chaste about it, it was messy and demanding and even bordering on violent, bruising with teeth smashing together. He remembered everything from that night, to have his Natasha in his arms, trailing kissing down her neck with the sound of his name on her lips, he would have been happy just to hold her there forever and count himself the luckiest man in all the universes. Afterwards he had lain next to her, bare with his hands gently tracing circles on her exposed skin and it had just slipped off his tongue, he hadn't been planning on saying it, it had just happened, and when he had said it she'd just stared at him shocked, remaining completely silent, and he'd cursed himself a million times over in that one second for being so stupid and naive, wanting to shy away from the beauty before him and curl up in the dark somewhere where nobody could see him. Nether the less he tried saying it again sometime later, there still being a very distinct lack of verbal response, but he had received a small smile that playing on her lips in return. That had been enough.

However he had come to realise after a while that just because she didn't say that she did, didn't mean that she didn't. She'd given herself to him willingly in every other sense possible that he almost felt a pang of guilt for desiring anymore than what he had. He had her after all. Every time he told her she wouldn't shift away or act in anyway ashamed, she'd just gave him a rare beautiful smile and that would be it.

Natasha had a different view than most on pretty well everything. She wasn't the happy flirty girl that most guys would go for, in fact she was the complete polar opposite, and Clint liked to think that he knew her better than anybody else. Beneath her icy exterior she was almost crippled with fear, prone to dark and depressing thoughts which fed her doubts, with a wry sense of humour and a vulnerability about her that would worry most. That was what had drawn him to her in the first place, why he hadn't killed her when he had been ordered to. After that she had become something of his own little project. She had it in her head that she owed him in some way for sparing her life, but she was wrong, in fact in some silly way it was he that owed her for everything since, and after all she had saved his life many more times than he hers.

But to her, love was for children. It was a pretty little fantasy that when you get to a certain age you pack up and put away with all your other childish things. It was just a story that should be grown out of, and if you held onto it then it would only every bring you heartache and pain; it clouded your sense and made your judgement biased, you became venerable and weak, and easy target, and so avoiding it at all costs was the biggest favour that you could do yourself. It was an unnecessary and irrational hindrance. But Clint: he was not weak, he was strong, stronger that Natasha herself. Love was his strength, he'd told her, if you did let it in then it gave you something to fight _for_, something that you would go to the farthest ends of the universe to protect, something that was worth seeing again at the end of everything. She envied him, him and his optimism, he was so alive; all she had were her doubts and her fear shaded in the darkness of her mind. And yet he still chose to waste all his love on her. But when she was in his arms she did feel alive, even for just a short while, her heart would race and her stomach knot together and all she wanted to do was touch him, feel him, to be completely and utterly at his disposal, just to _have_ him was the greatest feeling in the world.

Remembering everything, his hands and mouth seemingly everywhere at once, exploring her, knowing exactly where to touch to make her melt, her head spinning from the shooting pleasure, gasping and panting with his name on her tongue, holding onto every moment as if trying to keep water in her cupped hands. Everything was worth it, guiding him to her rhythm with every stroke bringing her closer until she came undone in his arms.

Laying beside her, his breathing still fast and shallow, Clint twisted his head around to gently press his lips to her temple "I love you." He told her in a husky breathless whisper.

For several moments Natasha didn't say anything in return, she didn't even move or make any sign or motion of acknowledgement. Locking their clammy sweaty fingers together and she said in a voice barely audible so that only somebody as close to her as he was would be able to hear her "I'd tell you Clint, but-" he silenced her his mouth slanting over hers and a soft kiss.

It wasn't much, but it was enough.


End file.
